


Gold Like Fire

by RobinPlaysTrumpet15



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinPlaysTrumpet15/pseuds/RobinPlaysTrumpet15
Summary: Bonds are special gifts from the Old Gods. These Bonds help lead soulmates to one another, but only, legend has it, if both soulmates wear them. They are precious things.Jon isn't. Jon is not meant to have a Bond, is he? Who would want to be saddled with him as a soulmate anyhow?Jonmund Soulmate AU





	1. Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! I had fully intended to write this whole story and post it as one, very long story with no chapter breaks or anything. Except now it's still unfinished and nearly 20,000 words. I read back through what I already have last night and found several places where a chapter break is almost _needed_ so I figured I might as well start posting it in bits and pieces. It might help me find my motivation again, too. So here goes nothing.
> 
> I hope you guys like this!

Jon liked to spend time out in the godswood. It was one of the only quiet places in Winterfell, specifically where he knew he wouldn’t be subjected to withering looks from Lady Stark. At eight, he knew and understood why she didn’t like him. He was a bastard. He was the one and only dark stain on his Lord Father’s near perfect reputation. It was a mark against her, too. That she was not enough to satisfy her husband, even with the sons and daughters she had borne him.

And despite how Jon was a bastard, and otherwise disliked by the Old Gods because of that, they were still his. And he liked the time alone to sit in silent contemplation in their presence. Sometimes Robb would come with him, but Jon was a quiet child by nature, and Robb seemed to acknowledge and respect that.

And one day, Robb had come rushing into their father’s study, startling both him and Jon. He was beaming, smiling from ear to ear, clutching some small token in his hand.

When their father had asked to see it, Robb held it out proudly, displaying a leather band. It was relatively small, though it certainly wouldn’t fit his wrist well for another few years, made of sturdy leather. It attached by thin, braided strips of leather with a carved stone button for a fastener. On top was a delicate plate of metal, possibly iron, that depicted an etching of two wolves sitting side by side, a red cub between them.

Ned had smiled at him and sat both Robb and Jon down together on the hearth. He asked Robb to retell how he’d come by this little bracelet he seemed to love so much.

“I found it in the godswood,” Robb had explained, gazing down at the band and running his fingers over it almost reverently. “It was hanging on a branch, and I had to climb to get it, but it’s pretty. And I love it…”

His cheeks had flushed red then, voice fading off to nothing as he became embarrassed. Jon looked at the bracelet again through Robb’s hands. He wouldn’t have called it pretty, nor did he have any inclination at all to hold it. But it certainly was interesting. Jon himself had just been out in the godswood earlier and nothing had been there. That made this a mystery, and Jon loved those.

Ned had ruffled Robb’s hair and laughed good naturedly.

“Do you know what that is, Robb?” the man asked kindly.

Robb stared at the leather band quizzically for a moment, then turned his head up with a shake to look at their father.

“Jon?” Ned prompted.

Jon shook his head, too.

“This,” Ned started, reaching out for Robb’s new bracelet. Robb hesitated, but handed it to him. “This is a Bond. They are given to us by the Old Gods. Bonds help us to find our soulmates, and each set is unique. Your Bond, Robb, has a twin out in the world somewhere. They look just alike. And as long as you and your soulmate wear these, they will help lead you to each other.”

Jon’s eyes widened in awe, staring at the little leather band. How could something so small and seemingly insignificant be so powerful as to bring two people together?They could be on opposite sides of the country, or maybe even the world!

Robb was just as awed by this information. He took the bracelet back gingerly, turning it over and over. Then he looked up at their father, excited.

“Do you have a Bond, Father?”

Ned chuckled again at him. He held out his hand for them to look and see the gold ring that sat on his index finger.

“That’s your Bond?” Jon asked, his voice small. Ned nodded gently.

They’d seen it since before either of them could remember. He wore it everyday, right there on his left index finger. Sometimes when he wanted to bring Jon out of his shell, and he seemed to need something to do with his hands, he would let the boy hold it, fiddle with it between his fingers.

“Mother doesn’t have a ring like that,” Robb noticed, leaning closer to inspect the golden band.

“No, she does not.”

“How come?” Jon brought his eyes up, away from the ring.

“Because Catelyn never got a Bond from a weirwood tree.”

Robb’s eyebrows scrunched together as he frowned. “Why?”

“Well, your mother doesn’t follow the ways of the Old Gods. She follows the Faith of The Seven. They have different ways of finding their soulmates.”

“How do they do it?”

Ned shook his head with a casual smile, standing back up and ushering his sons to follow. “I’ll admit I’m not sure. Soulmates in the Faith are generally a much more private matter than they are with the Old Gods. You’d have to ask your mother.”

Then Robb’s beaming look was back as he remembered he had a brand new Bond to show her, too. He called his thanks to his father, rushing back out of the room, supposedly to find his mother, or maybe their siblings.

Jon hesitated, staring through the open door, as if he could watch Robb from right there. He probably only stood there for a moment, but if felt like forever, contemplating.

If Jon was a bastard and hated by the Old Gods, would he ever get a Bond? Did he have a soulmate out there somewhere, waiting to meet him? Did they follow the Old Gods of the Forest, or do they perhaps follow the ways of The Seven? What if Jon didn’t have a soulmate? Not a single person with whom he was destined to spend his life.

What if Jon was just meant to be alone, forever?

A hand landed on his shoulder suddenly. He tried to hide his startled jerk.

His father was standing beside him.

“Jon?”

“Yes, Father?”

The man looked concerned. “Something on your mind?”

Jon averted his gaze, shaking his head.

“No, Father.” He stepped away, towards the door. “Just thinking.”

Ned looked him over for just a moment before nodding his head once in acknowledgement. “Off you go, then. Go play with your brother. I’m sure he has plenty of energy to burn.”

Jon faked a smile at him and left the room, a forced bounce in his step.

Playing with Robb was fun. But he could also see straight through Jon whenever he wanted to.

Jon hoped he was good enough to fool them all today.

*

For nearly a month, all Robb could focus on was soulmates. He asked Maester Luwin about them any chance he got until there was no more information to know. He had to be scolded more than once for being too distracted during his and Jon’s lessons by his new Bond.

At first, he was very protective of the little brown and gray bracelet, letting others look, but not touch. It caused a lot of strife with their younger siblings who liked to learn the world by touching everything they could get their little hands on.

By a year later, he had calmed down, and Jon was thankful for the change. Because not only had Robb been interested in his own Bond, he’d taken to attempting to get Jon to talk to him about his potential Bond as well.

After a few months of turning him down gently and otherwise changing topics, he’d snapped at his brother and informed him that he probably didn’t have a Bond waiting for him at all. He was a bastard, and therefore unworthy of such a special gift from the gods.

That, of course, had made Robb cry. And then because Robb was crying, Jon felt bad. That, plus the fact that Jon had not yet admitted that out loud to himself before had made him cry too.

So that was how their father and Catelyn had found them. Sitting on the rug on the floor of Robb’s bedroom, hanging onto each other, and crying for reasons far deeper than any eight year old could truly comprehend. And it had hurt a lot, and left both of them unsettled and upset for at least a week.

After that, Robb hadn’t brought up Jon’s Bond again, but he’d certainly started some other peculiar habits. Jon found himself not being a shadow to Robb, but shadowed by Robb. He found a hand in his if he ever started to get frustrated or overwhelmed. At night when it was too cold, or storming, or just too dark, he would find Robb creeping into his bedchamber and climbing under the furs with him. Surely Robb’s room was bigger and warmer, but Robb was the one coming to him.

It took Jon far too long to realize that Robb was downright determined to not only prove to Jon that he was loved and cared for and just as valid as the rest of them, but was trying to meet Jon where he was.

And that had made Jon cry, too. The feelings swirling around in his chest were a mix of contentment and unworthiness, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. But Robb held him through it all the same.

After two years, Jon was positive he wouldn’t get a Bond, and he had convinced himself that he was alright with that.

So Jon continued to sit in the godswood and pray, continued to go about his lessons with Robb, continued his training with Ser Roderick. He was okay. Robb wore his Bond like it was any other piece of jewelry and because the North stayed so cold for the majority of the year, Jon didn’t think much of it and his brother didn’t bring it up. Theon also didn’t mention it a lot either. He didn’t follow the ways of the Old Gods and consequently had different beliefs about soulmates, of which he hadn’t shared with any of them. And Jon was okay with that, too.

One day, life just seemed to be out to get him and make him pay for whatever crime he couldn’t remember committing. Catelyn had gotten mad at him at breakfast when he’d approached to ask his father a question. His lessons with Maester Luwin in the morning had been far less than stellar. Sansa had laughed at him after Theon had knocked the sword from his hand, proceeding to inform him that if he couldn’t even hold onto it, he should just offer his neck up. Which, Jon thought to himself, was really dark for a six year old. She must have learned it from Theon.

So instead of spending time with anyone that afternoon, he hid away by the weirwood tree where he was almost positive no one would bother him. Well, his father might, or Robb, because they were like that and they probably knew he was upset. But they might stay away, and Jon hoped they would.

He heaved a heavy breath to himself, closing his eyes and let his head drop back against the pale bark. Off in the distance, he could hear the ambient noises of Winterfell. Horses and stableboys and the ring of swords clashing as men sparred against one another. Chatter of servants and kitchen maids floated through the air happily on the warm summer breeze. Very rarely was it ever this warm up in the North, but Jon had only had to dress in one layer that morning, and had found it rather enjoyable.

The breeze picked up into a wind very suddenly, blowing red leaves on their branches. It picked up pieces of Jon’s hair, hitting him in the face with his own black curls.

The gusts only lasted for a moment, and then seemed to die with the ghost of a sound like crackling fire. Jon opened his eyes to look around, finding nothing in the courtyard to be any different than a moment ago. No extra leaves sat on the ground, the pool at his side was just as still as it had been several minutes ago. Jon couldn’t see anything weird.

He felt a headache start to settle in right at the front of his skull, and Jon could tell there was exactly zero energy left in him to deal with it right now. His head fell back to rest on the tree again, though he kept his eyes open for a moment. The sun was pretty as it filtered through the leaves above him. It almost seemed to sparkle in the spaces between red, letting dappled white and yellow shift across him in a calming pattern.

Just as Jon let his eyes fall closed, his gaze was caught by a shine of gold. It seemed odd and out of place and had him pausing in his venture to take a nap.

A few feet above him hung a chain of gold. Jon’s eyes widened as he looked at it. A dull pange pulled in his chest, urging him to stand and take the chain in his hands. He followed the feeling up to his feet, now eye level with the trinket.

It was a simple necklace, hooked over a white twig on a bigger branch. It had no pendant or ornamentation. The metal itself was thin, the rings small and intricately welded around one another in a way that amazed Jon. He wasn’t sure any smith in all of Westeros could make something this fine and ornate.

It had to be a Bond.

Jon lifted a hand to touch the gold. He really wanted to hold it. He wanted to see if it felt as smooth as it looked. The necklace seemed like it would feel cool in his hand. But just at the last second, his fingers twitched and pulled away.

No… what if this wasn’t meant for him? What if this wasn’t his Bond? Jon wasn’t meant to have a Bond anyway. This couldn’t possibly be meant for him.

Jon felt his brow furrow as he gathered all his strength and forced himself to step away from the Bond. This didn’t belong to him. He had no right to touch it.

He turned on his heel sharply and strode out of the godswood, his arms stiff at his sides and swinging in an effort to keep himself walking.

Jon tried to put the gold necklace out of his mind after that.

*

Even though he never could stop thinking about it, Jon had assumed it would be gone by the time he came back to it. He hoped it would be, anyway.

So the next afternoon, Jon visited the weirwood tree, both elated and disappointed to find the Bond still hanging on its twig, just as it had the day before. Jon stared at it pointedly, refusing to approach this time. So he turned right back around and left.

That night, the necklace made its way into his dreams. It sat about his neck, resting against his chest for how low it hung. Surprisingly, it was warm against his skin where he’d thought it would be cool to the touch.

The next morning, he found himself tip toeing out of the castle and out to the godswood, catching a glimpse of gold from the entrance. Before anyone could see him, he fled back inside.

Surely, he thought, whoever the Bond belonged to would claim it soon.

But no one did that day or the next. And by the fourth day, Jon’s dreams had grown in number and had only increased his confusion.

In his dreams, he could see flashes of bright red hair and the shine of gold just on the edges of his vision. He always seemed to be chasing the person, whoever it was. The landscape around them was blurry and nearly all white. Jon could never see where he was going. But he knew he had to find the person. He had to catch up to red hair and blue eyes, looking constantly for a gold chain around an unfamiliar neck.

But Jon never did see them. He never did see a face or catch their name.

When the Bond was still there in the tree that afternoon, he was fed up. A very deep seated need to touch the necklace had taken root in his stomach, and it was all he could think about. Almost everyone had noticed by now how distracted he was, Robb especially, and his family was beginning to grow concerned.

So he decided to go to the one person he knew would have the answer.

His father.

Jon marched himself back to the castle and up all the stairs until he found himself standing outside the large wooden door to the Lord’s study. Suddenly Jon didn’t feel quite so determined. But he swallowed down his nervousness and knocked firmly at the door.

“Enter,” he heard from inside.

Jon let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding before pushing the heavy wood out of the way just enough to poke his head in.

“Yes?” Ned asked, sitting at his desk. He didn’t even look up from what he was writing.

Jon couldn’t get his vocal cords to loosen, suddenly. After a long moment of silence, his father glanced up at him, his dark eyes landing on Jon. An accommodating smile graced his features and he ushered Jon inside.

Jon followed the direction easily, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“What can I do for you, Jon?” his father asked, continuing to write on his piece of paper.

“I found something,” Jon started shyly.

“And what did you find?”

Jon swallowed. “A Bond.”

Ned paused in his writing, looking up at Jon. His eyes scanned over him for a sign of a new item, and when they found nothing, moved back to Jon’s face.

“Where is it?”

“In the weirwood tree.”

“It’s still there?” his father asked, a crease between his eyebrows.

Jon nodded sheepishly.

“Why is it still there?”

Jon tried hard not to fiddle with his fingers like a scared little boy. “Because it’s not mine.”

The man hesitated before standing from his chair and coming closer to Jon. He placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, leading him towards the window and into a set of chairs sitting there. They sat down together.

“Tell me how you found it.”

Jon did so, explaining the bad day he’d had and hiding out in the godwood. Then he told him about the sudden winds and pretty sunlight, then finding the necklace where it hadn’t been a minute before. Then he explained the dreams and how the necklace was still there four days later. Ned nodded right along the entire story.

At the end, he waited a moment before he said anything.

“So why don’t you think it’s for you?”

Jon’s answer came with no hesitation - the answer as plain as day, an accepted fact.

“Because I’m a bastard, and bastards don’t get special Bonds from the gods.”

Ned seemed completely taken aback by this answer. “Who in seven hells told you that?” he demanded.

Jon shrugged. “No one, I guess. I just… know.”

His father shook his head at him.

“No, Jon, that’s not how that works.” He stood and gestured for Jon to do so as well. “Come, show me this Bond.”

So Jon led him down to the godswood and over to the weirwood. The golden necklace still hung from the branch, just the same as it had for days. It looked no different, no less yellow, no less bright, no less beautiful. It was still perfect.

“There,” Jon pointed, a few feet away. “See?”

Ned stepped closer to it, leaning down and inspecting the necklace. After several long seconds of contemplating it, his back to Jon, he stood tall once again and stepped to the side.

“That settles it. Jon, I have no doubt in my mind that this Bond belongs to you.”

Jon couldn’t help the shock that exploded over his face.

“What?”

“Yes,” Ned confirmed with a nod and a smile. “This is definitely yours.”

Jon looked back to the necklace- his necklace. Could it really-? Was it really his? It must have been if his father said so. His father knew almost everything.

“Go on,” the man prompted. “Take it.”

Jon nearly stumbled as he stepped forward, reaching out hesitantly. Ever so gently, he let his fingers brush over the gold, and he found it wasn’t cool like he thought it would be. It was warm, just like in his dream. Slowly, he lifted it off the twig and away from the branch.

Jon sent a timid look up at his father, unsure what to do now. But the man’s face clearly said for him to put it on.

He looked at the chain necklace again, lifting it up and slipping it up his head. It rested warm against the back of his neck, falling nearly halfway down his chest.

Very suddenly the necklace wasn’t just gold. It shined and glowed, colors dancing over the metal. The colors rippled together, all orange and gold, red and white. It looked like flame. The metal links warmed considerably against Jon’s skin, but not once was it uncomfortable.

He almost couldn’t tear his eyes away. For several minutes, the flames seemed to dance across the chain until the colors faded away to the gold it had been for four days. Then Jon turned his wide-eyed, slack-jawed look up to his father once again.

For just a moment, even Ned Stark seemed dumbfounded.

“What was that?” Jon gasped, desperate, suddenly, to know more.

It took even longer for the man to find his voice. Once he did, he shook his head a little, swallowing and lowering himself to Jon’s height.

“I’ll be honest with you, Jon,” he started, a hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, “I have never heard of, nor seen something like this happening.”

Which… that was wrong. It had to be wrong. His father knew a lot of things. He knew at least a little bit about nearly anything Jon and his siblings ever wanted to know. But in this, he was unsure? In this, his father knew nothing?

Timid, Jon spoke. “Well, what now?”

“Now?” Ned clarified. “Now you keep it with you. As long as you wear this, your Bond will lead you to your soulmate.”

Jon looked down again at his new Bond, fingering over the golden metal carefully. “Are you sure?”

Ned nodded with a determined smile. The look reassured Jon.

“Of that, at least, I am certain.” With that, he straightened to his full height and turned Jon around. He urged him forward gently. “Go on, now. Go find your brother. I’m sure he’s missing his partner in crime.”

As Jon trotted off obediently, Ned Stark’s eyebrows furrowed into a hard crease. He would have to speak with Maester Luwin. There was something off about his son’s - nephew’s - Bond. And if anyone would know, it was the man who’d helped raise him and his brothers and sister.

*

A thousand miles away, a boy just barely a man in his own right sat confused in his tent, huddled away from the cold and the snow outside. Sitting before him was his mother, and together they watched an intricate chain of gold that hung about his neck. It shimmered and glowed like the metal itself was fire. For the first time since the gods had gifted him the necklace in the sight of one of their weirwood trees, the metal was warm to the touch, chasing away the once icy feel of winter-frozen gold. The heat spread a comforting warmth down his spine delightfully.

Even after the colors faded and the glow died to nothing, the young man couldn’t speak.

Luckily, his mother did for him.

“Ah,” the woman hummed into the silent tent. Her face relaxed into a proud smile. “Very rarely do the gods work their magic quite like this.”

Her son looked up to her, waiting for anything more.

“He will be a strong one, Tormund,” she said with a definitive nod. “You would be wise not to underestimate him.”

“How do you know my soulmate is a him?” Tormund asked. Gods knew he certainly liked both women and men equally enough.

The woman reached out for his hand and patted it, almost patronizingly.

“I’m your mum. We old ladies just know these things dear. You would be wise to remember that, too.”

Tormund’s cheeks went pink and he huffed shoving himself to stand and leave the tent. He paused just outside, turned back, kissed his mother on the cheek, then went off to join the hunt once more. She drove him insane sometimes, but he loved her nonetheless.

He hoped he could say the same about his soulmate one day.

Hours later, the heat from his Gift continued to warm him against the biting winds of the Antler River Valley. Tormund hoped that his soulmate would never take their Gift off. Together, they would keep each other warm against anything the world threw at them.

*

For approximately two days Jon wore his new Bond proudly on his chest. He smiled more and he worked harder in his studies and sword lessons with his brother and Theon. And Robb absolutely fawned over him for it. Like most people and Bonds, Robb never had any interest in taking, holding, or touching Jon’s necklace unless he offered. Jon didn’t offer very much, but Ned had seen them huddled close together in Jon’s chambers the first night, watching the way the firelight reflected off the metal. He heard muted voices, wondering together whether the glowing colors from that afternoon would appear again.

Ned supposed they never did as he assumed he would have heard about it from his oldest if they’d seen it.

But over all, he was happy to see his sister’s son happy. That was all he could ask for. If he was going to raise Lyanna’s son like his own, then he would wish for his happiness just as he wished for his own sons’ and daughters’.

Catelyn, however, did not seem to be quite so happy. She never expressed the sentiment out loud. Or, not that Ned could tell, anyway. But she seemed to be colder and more terse towards the boy for those two days. She especially did not like the renewed closeness Jon’s Bond brought between her husband’s “bastard” son and her own first born. Robb seemed downright determined to do literally everything with Jon, much to his mother’s displeasure.

And as much as Ned hated her own hatred of the boy, there wasn’t much he could do. It was vitally important that Jon’s true parentage never be revealed to anyone. Not to Cat, not to their children, not even to Jon himself. He didn’t like it, and didn’t like how at ten, the weight of feeling unwanted burdened his nephew to the point of withdrawal from his siblings, but it helped the lie. And the lie would keep him safe, hidden, and most importantly, alive.

But on the third day, a week after Jon found his Bond in the godswood, the necklace was nowhere to be found. Not that Ned could see anyway.

Jon himself was quite. He’d done a complete about face overnight, and Ned couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Jon wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, he wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then his responses were kept to minute shakes or nods of his head if he could help it. Robb noticed the difference immediately and made it his own personal mission to draw his brother back out of his shell. He’d loved having Jon so giggly and active with him the past couple of days. But nothing worked. Nothing any of them tried worked. Jon especially wouldn’t acknowledge any mention of his new Bond from the gods.

And by the next afternoon when it was still missing, Ned was growing concerned.

Sitting in his study, alone, he couldn’t focus on anything. Not the scrolls he’d received asking for help or guidance or supplies. He couldn’t focus on the plans to repair several parts of the castle that had been damaged in a recent storm. New recruits were needed for the Wall, and his brother would be arriving within a fortnight to take any volunteers or prisoners up north. But he couldn’t even begin to think about sending out notices or preparing a traveling wagon to accompany them with fresh supplies back to Castle Black.

The only thing on his mind was his nephew. His son. The way he kept his hands tucked close to his sides, his eyes downcast obediently, his mouth clamped shut, and lip wobbling every time anyone so much as mentioned his necklace.

He sighed and shoved his chair back from the desk. With absolutely no hope of getting any work done until the matter was resolved, he called for a servant girl to fetch Jon and bring him. She tilted her head in his direction obediently with a “yes, my lord” and left quickly.

The girl returned with Jon in tow. He looked like he expected a beating. A young pup, tail tucked between his legs, a kicked puppy sort of look on his face.

The whole thing left Ned’s heart absolutely shattered. This boy should not have to look like that.

Ned dismissed the girl with a gentle tone, hoping not to upset his son any further, though it didn’t seem to work. Jon flinched at the sound of the heavy wooden door closing behind him.

Ned just watched him for a moment, the way every part of him trembled in anticipation. Rarely were any of Ned’s children ever in danger of punishment, considering how well behaved they were for the most part, meaning his children had little reason to fear his judgement or consequences of being called to his study alone.

Perhaps there was something he was not aware of that Jon and or Robb (and Theon, more likely) had done that would warrant a punishment, but he hadn’t heard anything. And if either of the two had pulled a stunt, he would have known about it immediately. The servants didn’t appreciate their work being made harder by little boys acting like fools, and Ned had made it known to them that he would deal with his kids should they ever do something stupid.

So no, there was no possible way Jon could be in trouble for anything he’d done.

Except, perhaps, for existing. Which he had apologized for in the past. Not even once, either. Several times. And it was usually after Catelyn had come down hard on him for acting “too familiar” with Robb or Theon in public.

Ned never liked to hear those apologies. Even if Jon truly had been his bastard son, that fault still should never fall to the child. They never asked to be born. No sense in punishing them for it. But Ned was powerless to change social standards. And he chose to raise Jon as a bastard anyway, even if the circumstances of raising him along with his own trueborn children was unheard of.

But none of that mattered now.

Right now, he had a ten year old, withdrawn, heartbroken boy to attend to.

“Jon,” he started softly, attempting to make himself less intimidating, “come here.”

Jon did as he was told, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Ned wondered if it would start to bleed. He didn’t look up at him. Jon came to a stop by his side, standing less than a foot to his left near his elbow.

“Look at me, please.”

Slowly, Jon’s dark brown eyes, a trait he definitely gained from Lyanna, lifted to meet Ned’s own gray gaze.

He smiled at him as genuinely as he could, though he could tell the expression came off a little sad. “There you are. What’s wrong?”

Jon just shook his head a little, continuing to bite at his lip and doing everything in his power to keep looking into Ned’s eyes. It seemed hard for him.

Ned sighed to himself. “Something is wrong, Jon. Speak to me. Tell me what has happened.”

It took a moment for Jon to say anything. He spent the time gathering his courage, finding his words, forcing them not to jumble on their way out.

But when they did find their way into the air between father and son, they were a lie.

“Nothing is wrong, Father,” Jon said as loudly as he dared, as fake truthfully as he could manage.

Ned shook his head, shifting his chair around to face Jon headon. “Jon, you know I can always tell when you lie to me.”

Jon’s eyes darted away, a new force of trembles shaking through his small body.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me the truth.” Ned surveyed Jon’s face, looking for anything he could use. There didn’t seem to be anything there.

Fine, new tactic.

“Where is your Bond?”

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin. Suddenly he was nearly stumbling over himself to speak as many words as he possibly could. He shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot, his eyes flitting all over the room, but never landing on Ned again.

“I-it’s s-safe. I prom-promise. It’s just- I didn’t want- I thought it might get lost if- if I wore it around. So I- I put it away. In my room. That- that way nothing will hap-happen to it.”

Jon’s hands fidgeted in front of him, fingers twisting together and palms pushing one another in a way that seemed almost painful. Ned didn’t like the sight of it.

But absolutely none of that made sense. Ned couldn’t help the frown that pulled his eyebrows down low over his eyes. “Why aren’t you wearing it? Is with you not the safest place for it?”

Jon shook his head in quick, tiny movements. He seemed to get more agitated by the second. But Ned had to know what was going on with his boy.

“Why not?”

“L-lady Stark s-said-”

Seven hells… Ned couldn’t even hear anything after that. He knew it would be important to listen to what Jon was saying. He knew he had to know what his wife had told this poor child to make him so uneasy, so withdrawn after being happier than Ned had ever seen him in his life. But his mind was racing. He loved Cat, loved her very dearly. He had no confirmation, but he was almost sure she was his soulmate.

The Faith of The Seven, he had learned, did not have Bonds, so soulmates were found through other means. But Cat was his. It had been, what some would say, pure luck that they had been married after the arrangement between her and his older brother fell through with his death, but Ned believed differently. It was the gods. They didn’t kill his brother to bring Ned and Catelyn together, he knew, but this was the plan either way.

Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully were destined by the Old Gods and The Seven, that much he was sure of.

But sometimes, she infuriated him with her treatment of Jon. Usually, he could overlook the expressions she made, the comments she breathed when only he or no one else could hear her. It helped the lie. It kept Jon safe. But this? This was taking it too far.

“Father?”

Ned realised Jon had stopped speaking at least a minute ago and he hadn’t said anything. He also hadn’t heard what Jon had said.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” he apologized as calmly as he could. “You’ll have to repeat that. I didn’t quite catch it.” Suddenly, he was strangely thankful for Jon’s nervous energy making him stutter through his sentences.

Jon took a deep, shaking breath and let it out carefully.

“Lady Ca- Stark said that bastards are hated by the gods and don’t grant them Bonds. She said that they are special gifts that someone like me shouldn’t have been given.” He was clearly trying very hard to keep his voice calm and level this time, needing his father to understand him. “She said that other people would think it wrong and try to take my Bond from me. So I hid it. To keep it safe.”

There were tears welling up in Jon’s eyes, tinging the whites of them pink with irritation.

It was times like this that Ned wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and look this boy - his son - in the eyes, hold him close, and tell him everything. Tell him that he was not a bastard, that he was his nephew, his sister’s son. That he had not been born outside of a binding, loving marriage. That even though Ned was his uncle, he loved him just as much as his own children, that he loved him with his whole heart. He wanted to hold him and comfort him and look his wife in her own blue Tully eyes and tell her the truth too. Because she deserved the truth almost as much as Jon did.

He would dream of it, sometimes, telling his family and swearing them all to secrecy. He wanted to name Jon a Stark, get Robert to do it for him, even. And raise Jon with the open love and care that he deserved as, not only a human being, but as Ned’s nephew - his son.

And never had he wanted that more than he wanted it right that very moment.

But it was just too dangerous.

So he steeled himself, ushering Jon closer and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, Jon,” he started firmly, keeping Jon’s eyes locked with his. “You are just as worthy of a Bond as anyone else in this world. There are murderers and thieves and worse out there who have been given Bonds by the gods. And if they saw fit to grant you something as precious as this, no one has a right to take it from you. Ever.” Ned surveyed big, tearful brown eyes for a moment.

“Do you understand?”

Jon nodded, sniffling against his unshed tears.

Ned’s chest ached to wrap him up in his arms and hold him there forever; to keep him little and innocent and protected from everything that would hurt him. But he also knew that one did not grow stronger without strife and conflict and learning opportunities.

So Ned smiled at his boy warmly and hugged him, against his better judgement. Jon hugged him back just as tightly, with his head cradled against his father’s shoulder. Ned pretended he didn’t feel the couple of tears that spilled down his cheeks and into Jon’s dark, oh so curly hair. He was a Stark, through and through, Targaryen father be damned.

He hid the tears as he sent Jon off to put his Bond back on and promised to check in on him in a little while before supper. Jon nodded dutifully, no longer seeming quite so on edge as he had the past 36 hours, and left, still quiet. But at least this seemed to be his normal amount of quiet. And Ned could live with that.

He decided silently that he would have to talk to Catelyn later, make his intentions about Jon and how he was to be treated clear to her. Ned understood that she would probably never like the child, but he wouldn’t have her making him feel worse if he could help it.

Ned never did see Jon’s Bond overtop of his clothes again, but he could see the golden chain peeking out from the neck of his tunic from time to time. And he definitely seemed more at ease after that.

Ned hoped with his entire being that Jon would be okay.

*

Things seemed to calm down in the years that followed. Catelyn and Jon continued to not get along, but that didn’t surprise anyone. But she never did say something quite as drastic to his face ever again, even if she might have thought them privately.

Jon kept on being Robb’s best friend and Theon was Jon’s greatest annoyance once puberty set in for the three of them. Suddenly Ned started hearing whispers of teases and jokes about Jon’s looks; his hair, his eyes, his face, his build. But they never seemed as though they were meant to be harsh or mean, and Jon never seem too upset by them at all, more annoyed than anything else. So Ned figured everything was okay on that front.

Sansa still didn’t get along with Jon, but she did take after her mother, and thankfully, she started to learn that repeating words at her half brother was both rude and not ladylike at all. And she did like to be ladylike, even with how tall she continued to grow.

Arya and Bran absolutely adored their big brother and climbed all over him, hanging from his shoulders and arms and legs like he was a play thing. But it got the boy to smile and laugh and play with them, and it usually ended in a merciless tickle fight. The sight of it never failed to bring a smile to Ned’s face. And later, after Rickon was born and grew old enough to want to leave his mother’s side, he joined in on the fake wrestling, always happy to be picked up, swung around and tossed into the air like a sack of flour.

Life in Winterfell was good. With the exception of occasional squabbles and petty fights as siblings were prone to, they got on well and loved each other, difference in parentage be damned.

Well, usually. Ned still hated when Jon asked about his mother, having to lie to his face on occasion, but more often than not just sidestepping the real question and saying that he would tell him when he was older.

And then he promised that he would tell him everything, the whole truth perhaps, when they saw one another again. After he’d taken the black.

By then, it wouldn’t really matter, would it? Besides, he was fairly certain the maester at Castle Black was still Aemon Targaryen, even after all these years. And Ned couldn’t be sure the man wouldn’t be able to tell his own blood apart from everyone else.

If he’d known then what he realized later, he would have told Jon before they parted ways. Because he never did see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm sure it won't be too long before chapter two and whatever comes after that will be up, but please let me know if you liked this. Kudos and comments will be appreciated more than life. Thanks!


	2. The Wolf that cried Crow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just posted the first chapter a few hours ago, but here's chapter two! I'm slowly finding the places that I think naturally break up this near beast of a story, so bear with me.

Jon sighed, sitting up in bed. Ghost was sprawled out on the mattress behind him, taking up most of the room, but that was fine. He didn’t much feel like sleeping anyway. His hand hurt from the burn he’d gotten and he was too keyed up from the attack in the Lord Commander’s chambers.

The room wasn’t cold, but Jon certainly felt a chill settling into his bones. Not even the fire on the other side of the room could warm him.

Though, the chain around his neck was still warm. It was always comfortable, always brought him a sense of peace and calm. It certainly helped outside of his room where the world was not so warm. He didn’t know how anyone from the South even managed up here. He was from the North, but seven hells, this place was cold. And beyond the wall? It was even colder.

Idly, he lifted his hand and fingered over the gold chain. Sometimes he would dream about it glowing different colors, turning from gold to fire, just like it had the day he’d taken it from the weirwood. It had never done that again, and he wondered if it ever would, honestly. Sometimes he wondered if he dreamt it up in the first place. But never once had it been cold. Notably, it had also never been damaged. There were no scratches or marks or dents. It never lost its shine. The necklace was just perfect, exactly the way it had been eight years ago.

With this on, the Old Gods of the Forest would lead Jon and his soulmate together.

Except, Jon was a brother of the Night’s Watch now. He’d taken the black and sworn never to take a wife or father any children. The Night’s Watch was the death of soulmates, everyone knew that. Men whose soulmates had died ended up here at the Wall, feeling lost with no meaning in the world. Those who had been thieves or otherwise were sent here. Who wanted to be bound to a criminal all their life anyway? Bastards came up here too. Similar to criminals. What sane person in their right mind would ever want to know their soulmate was a bastard? No one, that’s who. Jon knew that for absolute certain.

He didn’t want to burden someone with himself. Hells, he didn’t even like being burdened with himself. So no, this was better.

Sometimes, brothers of the Night’s Watch who followed the Old Gods would give up their Bonds, locking them away somewhere with their own things, or handing them over to the Maester and stored with other forgotten and abandoned Bonds. There was no use keeping them. Still, some of them preferred to keep their gift from the gods. It didn’t hurt anything and up here, you needed all the comfort you could get.

Jon hadn’t been able to part with his. It made him feel too good and it was just too warm to risk giving up. Even if it did feel a little selfish.

*

It wasn’t too long after that they all set out beyond the Wall.

And if Jon had to think of one incident in his life to use as the perfect definition of ‘disaster’, this would be it.

It was a disaster when he said he would kill the wildling girl himself. It was a disaster when he got separated from the rest of his group. It was a(n extremely awkward) disaster that she kept trying to come onto him as they attempted to pick their way around, looking for Jon’s brothers. And it was a complete and utter disaster when she got away from him and he got himself captured by wildlings.

And that only led to more disasters. Killing Qhorin was the next one, then being taken to the wildling camp, meeting Mance Rayder, kneeling in front of one of the largest men he had ever seen and calling him “your grace” just to be laughed at (as he rightfully should have been, there was no disputing that).

But the man truly had seemed… like he could be a king. If anyone was going to be King, by wildling standards, he assumed it would be this man. He was tall, incredibly tall, and built of pure muscle underneath all his pelts and furs. His hair was flaming orange, just as his bushy beard was. The look in his eyes made Jon fear for his life a little bit, but oh- the color of them. They were the clearest blue Jon had ever seen, and he’d grown up looking at Robb. Robb had the most iconic Tully blue eyes the world had ever known. But in comparison to this man? They were almost dull and gray.

Against his chest, his Bond heated up considerably. The warmth of it made him shiver, sending an odd tingling sensation spreading straight down his spine. He nearly looked away from Tormund’s eyes. (That had been what Mance had called him, right?) But he couldn’t. Jon very well might lose his life if he so much as glanced away for a second.

But it didn’t matter that the man was huge and rough and strong and… handsome. Jon was fed up with lying to himself. The man was attractive in a way he’d never thought he’d think of a wildling. But none of that mattered! Because Jon was in enemy territory, lying to people who would not hesitate to gut him like a fish if they so much as smelled fear on him. And gods, was Jon scared. In the back of his mind, he was wishing for home; wishing for Winterfell with his siblings and its godswood, the white and red weirwood tree that had been his silent companion through his youth.

But all that was lost to him now. And even Castle Black would be a distant memory if he didn’t stay vigilant. And that meant not getting himself killed by stupid mistakes just because Jon had a… a crush, as Sansa would have called it.

Jon was taken away only minutes later. He was shoved into a tent, a hefty pile of brown fur clothes dumped in his arms with instructions to change. Ygritte had been stationed just outside the entrance with a bow he didn’t like the look of. So he stripped off his black Night’s Watch clothes, hating the way the cold blanketed his skin and make him shiver head to toe.

This time, he did chance a glance down at his necklace. It was still warmer than usual, but Jon was thankful for that if nothing else. But otherwise, there was nothing different about it. The color hadn’t changed, it wasn’t glowing like it did in his memory and dreams. It was still just a gold chain.

He shook off any lingering thoughts about the added heat. Maybe his soulmate was just… sending him extra warmth. Yeah, that was it. Or, something like that. Soulbonds were magic, after all, and magic worked in very strange ways indeed. And in the grand scheme of things, Jon’s Bond and its weird little quirks were not the most important thing to being paying attention to.

Jon dressed as quickly as possible, trying to make himself look presentable and not at all like a fool. Or like a member of the Night’s Watch, because he’d already learned what that got him around here. Lots of insults, angry voices, and murderous looks. Or, legitimate murder.

So no. No more looking like a- a crow. Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about the term, knowing it was not a term of endearment by any means, but if he was going to pull this off, he’d have to become a wildling. Or at least learn their ways and replicate them believably. Which, Jon had to admit, might honestly be the worst and most dangerous thing he had ever attempted to do.

*

Most of Jon’s time in the wildling camp (or the Free Folk as they called themselves) was spent either under the watchful eyes of Mance and Tormund, or the hawk like eyes of Ygritte. If the two men weren’t around and didn’t want Jon with them, he was kept by Ygritte’s side. Now that they were playing her games and not pretending to play his game, she wasn’t quite so forceful in her advances. But there were still advances.

And Jon wondered, from time to time, if she was who he was looking for. If Ygritte was the soul the gods had paired him with before he’d even been born. He remembered the dreams he had sometimes; flashes of red hair and blue eyes and freckled skin. He never could see a face in his dreams, or even a body or a gender, but Ygritte… she spoke to him like very few others ever had in his life. The way she lived, the way she expressed herself - it was all fascinating. Jon couldn’t imagine being so free as to live the way Ygritte did.

But then, Jon couldn’t fathom how any of the Free Folk lived. Going day by day and being themselves without a care in the world. Survival was another thing altogether, but being true to yourself? That was a luxury Jon thought very few people in Westeros had ever truly known. And he couldn’t help but want it. Badly.

And if he thought Ygritte was interesting, then Tormund was something far, far different. Jon almost couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man. Sure, he was giant and scruffy and crude, but scruffy and crude just seemed to be the culture around here. He smiled easily, even at Jon after a couple of days, and laughed long, loud, and hard. Often. They all drank some form of alcohol like the world was going to end (and it very well might, Jon had to remind himself). But Tormund told jokes and stories that kept people listening with wide eyes and hanging jaws, even if the tales seemed a little tall to be believed.

At night, there were hundreds of fires burning, tens of people sitting around each one, talking and joking, telling tales both old and new, singing - even dancing. It was free and it was fun and people joined in from all sides. Jon had experienced sitting around a campfire before with traveling companions, telling stories and the like, but this was different. His memories were somber and quiet, the stories filled with tragedy and sorrow and mystery. This? This was loud and boisterous and celebratory.

And every night was different. Some nights, the world and the camp seemed much more subdued. The songs sung were low and had sad tones to them. Jon couldn’t understand a lot of them, barely any sung in the common tongue, but they were all just as captivating. Sometimes several nearby fires would all join in singing one song and Jon would hear a hundred or more voices melding together in haunting melodies.

Tormund made a point to keep Jon close in the evenings, bringing him around to different fires. He even began encouraging him to join in on some of the simpler things. Like the call and response stories. Jon heard two or three of them rather often, as they seemed to be favorites of the clans, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He worried he would be too early or too late. Or that he would say the wrong thing at the wrong time. So when Tormund would shake him and jostle his shoulder, smiling wide and bright and a little crazy, Jon would go quiet as he often did and shake his head. Tormund always looked a little disappointed, but Jon couldn’t bring his aching heart to give in and try.

While Ygritte was intriguing in her mannerisms and self expression, everything about Tormund drew Jon’s attention like a fly to honey.

*

The Free Folk army never stayed in one place for long, travelling miles during the day and settling an hour or two before sundown. It gave plenty of time for rest and planning at night. Mance certainly had lots of plans.

The least favorite of those plans, in Jon’s opinion, was climbing the Wall. Tormund was instructed to take Orell and twenty good men. And Jon.

Jon wasn’t sure what climbing the Wall would entail, but seeing as he’d manned it quite recently, he wasn’t looking forward to it. It was high and cold and gods awful windy at the top. Even a fall from near the base would kill you, let alone if you got halfway up and slipped.

But this also got him back to Castle Black faster than he’d originally thought he would, and that wasn’t a terrible idea. For as fun as his time with the Free Folk had been, he still had brothers he was loyal to. And the wildlings still planned to invade and kill anyone who stood in their way and that wasn’t ideal. So Jon couldn’t complain much. Not that he would have dared anyway.

About a day after their group of twenty three set out, they came across a series of caves with underground hot springs. The Free Folk all seemed to know where they were and had expected to find them, but Jon was a little in awe. He supposed that he’d known these existed somewhere, had heard about them from Sam or someone else, but he hadn’t given it any thought at all.

Many of the others stripped down quickly and bathed, not a care in the world about their nakedness around each other. Jon had flushed all the way up into his hairline against his will and he’d tried to backtrack his way out of the cave, just to be stopped by a solid body behind him.

“And where are you going, little crow?” Tormund’s deep growl of a voice asked into his ear.

Jon’s Bond picked that moment to heat up against his skin, nearly burning against his neck and collarbone. It liked to do that whenever Tormund spoke to Jon. Or looked at him. Or existed in his general vicinity.

It was becoming just a hair irritating, despite the added warmth it provided. Jon was beginning to suspect that he would have red marks on his chest in the perfect shape of a chain necklace.

“I-” Jon clamped his mouth shut firmly, forcing his brain to work out the words before he let his tongue stumble over them like an idiot. “Outside.”

Tormund lifted one bright red eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed.

“Is the little crow too good for a bath?” the giant of a man teased at him, brushing past Jon and attempting to drag him closer to the pools of water. The grip on his arm wasn’t firm though and Jon broke it easily, feeling his breath coming a little faster at the prospect of being made to strip down and join the others like this.

“N-no, I just-”

“Aw, let ‘im go, Tormund!” one of the men called to them. “Crow boys aren’t much fun anyhow.”

And though Jon didn’t like several things about that sentence, he was thankful for someone getting him out of this situation.

Quite suddenly, Ygritte was appearing at Jon’s shoulder, fully dressed but her hair dripping and her skin obviously pink from heat. Jon hadn’t noticed her get in the water or get out again. Glancing around, he couldn’t even be sure she’d been in the same area of the cave as them.

“You may not be fun, Jon Snow, but you’re gonna smell soon if you don’t bathe. And I don’t wanna be the one smelling you,” she said with what Jon had come to realize was a playful sneer. Then she jerked her head to an opening in the rock on the far side of the cave to their right. “Come on, there’s some pools over here where you can bathe all by your lonesome.”

Jon tried to fight the flush that crept up his cheeks, though he assumed he wasn’t very successful considering the almost predatory look the redheaded girl sent his way. She turned on her heel and walked away, clearly expecting Jon to follow her. He ignored the comments he overheard about him being some sort of puppy she had on a leash.

In the next… room, Jon supposed it was, there was indeed another pool of water. This one seemed deeper, though not as wide as the one before. He stared at it, surveying the water and the rock at the bottom, then glancing at Ygritte who just watched him intently with her blue-gray stare.

“Well, you gonna get in or not?” she demanded, crossing her arms.

He shifted uncomfortably, hands lifting and pulling off his gloves and slowly beginning to undo the ties of his coat.

Suddenly he heard Ygritte groan, clearly throwing her hands up in the air. Jon watched as she turned around and crossed her arms in a huff. He thought he might have heard her grumble something about “prissy, prude little crows”, but he couldn’t be sure. Except that it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, and he assumed this wouldn’t be the last either.

But with her gaze off of him, he stripped off the rest of the pelts and his pants, sliding into the water as quickly as he dared. He didn’t want to slip and brain himself on the wet stone, after all. Though that seemed a more merciful death than any he’d been faced with in the past several months.

The hot water was probably one of the best things Jon had felt since arriving at Castle Black nearing on two years ago. It chased away the remaining chill that had seeped into his bones and never quite seemed to leave. The gentle movement from the currents helped to loosen the dirt and sweat that clung to his skin. Jon couldn’t help the appreciative groan that slipped from his mouth.

Foot falls landing at the side of the pool had him opening his eyes. Jon couldn’t remember closing them in the first place.

“Feel good, crow?” Ygritte asked, almost seeming genuine for once. Though she was still teasing, he could tell. She had that little quirked grin on his mouth.

Jon thought it looked good on her.

Instead of answering, he took a breath and submerged himself under the surface of the water. He didn’t stay in solitude long, coming back up again rather quickly. But he’d gotten his hair wet, which had been the goal. When he looked again, Ygritte was still watching, a soft, genuine smile gracing her features for once.

Jon watched her as she watched him, her eyes moving over what parts of him she could clearly see above the water.

He could almost feel the moment her gaze landed on his Bond.

The urge to lift his hands and hide the chain beneath them was strong. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want her looking at it. Jon had very rarely gone out of his way to be secretive about his Bond, though he wasn’t nearly as open about it as others in the North seemed to be. He had yet to be able to tell if any of the Free Folk had Bonds from the gods or not, but he hadn’t seen any. Or, none that he would have recognized. Not that that meant much though. Bonds came from the gods and were magic, generally considered uninteresting to anyone they were not meant for.

Though, Ygritte seemed rather interested in his, and not in a way that made him at all happy.

“You have a Gift…” she muttered, her tone almost seeming accusatory.

Clearly she was talking about his necklace, and Jon had long since learned that the Free Folk didn’t have the same words for everything as they did south of the Wall. But never before, not even in the past weeks, had he heard of a Bond being called a Gift. Though, now that he thought about it, if he’d heard talk about Gifts, he might not have been paying attention.

None of that mattered though because Ygritte was lowering herself to the rocks and leaning closer, obviously for a better look. Jon wasn’t sure he wanted to give her one.

A deep, gut churning feeling had him coming to the conclusion that Ygritte was not his soulmate. Jon couldn’t imagine that soulmates were supposed to be this uncomfortable about showing one another their Bonds.

But Jon had to do something, because she was just staring at it. She looked at it like it might bite; like it would reach out and swallow her and the entire world whole.

He found himself speaking before he could even think of words to say. “We call them Bonds in the North.”

“Bonds?” The word definitely sounded a little weird coming from Ygritte’s mouth. Though, her accent forced a lot of words to sound different, which Jon found interesting.

He nodded, no longer sure what to say.

After what felt like an eternity, her face pulled into a frown and she raised hard blue-gray eyes up to his.

“And how did you come across this ‘bond’, Jon Snow?”

He swallowed. Jon’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. “When I was ten, the gods gave it to me from the weirwood tree in Winterfell.”

“How long ago?”

“Eight, nine years, maybe?” He was beginning to lose track of the time he’d spent at Castle Black.

There was no change in the woman’s expression. She didn’t acknowledge that Jon said anything at all. She just gave one last hard look at him and his Bond, then stood up and left through the opening they’d come through.

Jon released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, relaxing back into the water and sinking down until just his eyes peeked out. He hoped silently to himself that Ygritte wasn’t about to go and tell all the others in the next room about his Bond. The last person he’d been so open about it with had been Robb, and now he was dead. And Jon felt very little inclination to share it with anyone else.

Except, his brain provided without permission, maybe Tormund. The idea of showing the man his necklace and letting him look at it, touch it or look at Jon like he was something precious, too - that brought a rather new fuzzy warmth spreading through his chest. It warmed him through his lungs and straight down into his bones.

A second later, Jon’s logic caught up with him and his runaway heart. No, that wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. This was the enemy. He was lying to them, straight to their faces. It didn’t matter that Tormund looked at him with big, gorgeous blue eyes, or that he had, not the prettiest red hair, but certainly the wildest. And it suited him well. Jon had wondered to himself late at night once or twice what it would feel like to run his fingers through it.

Jon forced himself to shake his head of the thoughts. He scrubbed his hands over his body and throw his flattened, wet curls a few times in sharp, jerky motions. Then he pulled himself from the water and shook off as best he could. He certainly wished for a towel right about then, standing against the cave wall where no one could see him and attempting to air dry before redressing. He could still hear the boisterous sounds of the other Free Folk elsewhere, still splashing and having a grand old time, Jon was sure.

He eventually tired of sitting around naked, deeming himself dry enough to put his clothes back on and end his seclusion.

*

Tormund’s attention was pulled away from his men roughhousing together by a firm grip settling on his shoulder. The hand was small and even before he turned to look, he knew it had to be Ygritte.

He turned with a genuine, wide smile to the girl he basically called his sister. She was a deal younger than him, and had lost her father at a young age. Tormund had stepped in to help her mother a few times, taking on a big brother role almost on accident for the little girl who’d been kissed by fire just as he was.

Her expression, though, was not one of a good time. She frowned, like something was wrong.

“What is it?”

“I need to talk to you. Privately,” she added, her eyes flickering up at the men on the other side of the cave. They hadn’t seemed to notice anything yet.

Tormund agreed with one sharp jerk of his head. He stood from the water, walking over to his clothes and rubbing himself down with a linen towel. It was rare to find one. He’d gotten it from an abandoned house south of the Wall once. It was better for drying off than his own clothes.

After he dressed, he bid Ygritte follow him back outside. He sent their two guards in to join the others and began setting up his own tent, Ygritte falling in to help him. She didn’t say anything until they were finished and she followed Tormund through the flap of the tent. Thankfully, it didn’t take long. The woman seemed eager to get to whatever had happened.

A gut feeling told him it had something to do with the pretty crow in their company.

He took a few seconds to settle, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows onto his knees.

“Alright, what’s going on?”

“Did you know Southerners get Gifts from the gods?” the girl spat out quickly.

Tormund frowned. “I did know some follow the Old Gods,” he confirmed. “So it would make sense that they are matched with Ones as well.”

Ygritte did not seem pleased with his answer.

“Have you shown the crow your Gift?”

He couldn’t help the incredulous lift of an eyebrow at her. “And why would I do that?”

Her face turned harder than stone, blue eyes like steel piercing into him in a way that, secretly, was beginning to make Tormund uncomfortable. She stared at him like that for a long moment, looking at him like she could get him to understand without saying anything. Well, Tormund never had been very good at silent messages. He was a man of words, after all.

“What?” he demanded of her.

Ygritte’s voice was just as stone like as her expression when she spoke. “Maybe you should.”

With that, she pushed herself up and left the tent in a huff.

Now, despite what some might believe, Tormund wasn’t just a brute. He was still smart. If he wasn’t, Mance wouldn’t have chosen him as one of his chiefs to help lead the Free Folk. That was for certain.

Ygritte had seen Tormund’s Gift from the gods. He’d showed it to her quite a bit when she was small. Because she was tiny and cute and wanted to know everything there was to know about Gifts and Ones and the person whose soul would fit neatly with yours. She’d spent a lot of time wondering what her Gift would look like, and who her One would be. But she’d also spent a great deal of time wondering about Tormund’s.

When she finally did get a Gift from a weirwood tree, it was small and thin and coppery, a lot like the tones of her hair. It had one little pendant on it in the shape of an arrow, red as blood. It had waited a bit of time to come to her, only appearing just a year or two back. She had started to wonder aloud to him if she was never going to get one.

Even still, she’d been just as interested in who his One would be.

And now, a heavy rock like feeling sitting low in his gut, Tormund was sure she thought she knew. Ygritte at least thought that she’d found his intended. And she was clearly convinced this was the only answer.

As pained as Tormund was to think about it, or admit it, he could feel it in his heart. A pull that would drive him back into the hot springs if it got its way.

He’d been dreaming of dark hair and dark eyes and silent wolves since he was eight. Nearing on one and twenty years and a crow shows up, eyes and hair dark as night, playing at being a crow that was raised by a family of wolves.

Tormund couldn’t help the frown that pulled at his face despite the ridiculously giddy feeling that bubbled around his heart.

Gods be good… Tormund couldn’t have caught a break with Jon Snow, could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks for reading! While you await chapter three (I hope), please let me know what you thought.


	3. Cold Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So right off the bat, this chapter is extremely short. I apologize for that. Huge portions of this story have already been written, but upon beginning to post, I found huge portions that also got missed.
> 
> Originally, this story wasn't meant to be chaptered, so the layout wasn't there from the beginning. Unfortunately, that means things work out however they work out. And this chapter drew the short stick (almost literally).
> 
> Either way, I hope you still like this. Chapter four should be out within the evening, just as soon as my beta reads through it and I can do some quick editing.

Jon couldn’t have been quite sure, but he thought he’d been getting weird looks. Well, weirder than normal. And not from the majority of their traveling party.

Mostly? Tormund and Ygritte.

A combination of the two of them together frightened Jon just a little bit. He knew full well what Ygritte was capable of, even if he hadn’t seen it. And he’d heard plenty enough of Tormund’s stories to know that his bad side was not a place Jon wanted to find himself. But both of them teamed up against him? No, thank you. Jon could do without.

But as it stood, he had no say in it. Tormund just continued to eye him a little more pointedly a little more often than before and Ygritte watched them both from a distance. It almost felt odd that her borderline uncomfortable advances had stopped, and he suspected it had something to do with his Bond.

Jon had been holding out hope that Ygritte hadn’t told the others about it. But at this point, considering the looks from Tormund and the woman’s own distance, he figured she must have. Thankfully, none of the others were acting overly unusual towards him - just the normal amount of hostility they’d shown him from the moment he’d arrived in Mance Rayder’s camp.

Jon couldn’t help but sigh quietly into the freezing air. His breath curled out in front of him with a puff of white steam. He found himself looking forward to climbing the Wall, if only because it put him one step closer to either death or Castle Black. And at this point, either of those two things would be better than the frustrating looks that had him a little hot under his skin.

He caught Tormund staring at him again over the fire that night. It was almost as if the man was trying to melt him through with his gaze alone. As if he could see right through Jon and what lay beneath all his little walls and lies and half truths.

Jon huffed to himself, turning away and nearly stomping back to the tent he unfortunately shared with the older man. It was going to be a long journey.

*

It continued on like that for weeks. And eventually, as much as Jon disliked the looks, he grew accustomed to them. He figured he wouldn’t be with the wildlings for long and perhaps he’d never see Tormund or Ygritte or any of the others ever again once he got back to Castle Black. Other than to fight them, of course. Mance Rayder still planned on creating the biggest bonfire the North has ever seen and marching on the Wall. And Castle Black was only manned by less than 150 men, contrary to the thousand he continued to insist on.

Climbing the Wall was one of the worst decisions Jon had ever made in his life. One, because it was absolutely insane and completely stupid, and two, because that put him in familiar territory with unfamiliar, hostile “companions”.

One could hardly even call them that. Ygritte hadn’t kept quite so much of a distance since Jon had essentially saved both of their lives on the Wall, and Tormund’s own looks didn’t seem as hard for a few days. But even still, he could tell he was not liked. Which was not news to Jon. He hadn’t been liked most of his life, even in childhood with the exception of Robb and their other siblings.

It was becoming a nuisance, though, how hurt his heart insisted on being over Tormund’s dislike of him.

Sure, Tormund had been nice enough to not treat him like a prisoner, and had even shown him parts of the Free Folk culture prior to setting out for the Wall. He had smiled at Jon and patted him roughly on the back and encouraged him to join in. After all, if he was going to be one of them like Jon had said he wanted to, then these were things he should get used to. And yes, Tormund still touched him a lot more freely than anyone south of the Wall probably ever would, and at night there would be stories told and songs sung around their fires, if a little less energetically, but it didn’t change one simple fact.

Tormund didn’t trust Jon. Tormund didn’t like Jon.

And that thought settled a deep, piercing ache right on top of Jon’s diaphragm and made it hard to breathe. His head knew all of this was ridiculous and that if he so much as stepped one toe out of line, Tormund would rip him apart as he had told him a couple of times already. But his heart and its feelings were downright determined to be hurt over the matter.

Ever the cynical, logical type though, Jon just rolled his eyes and continued on. There was nothing he could do about it, so might as well not waste breath and energy being upset.

Though, later, fighting against Tormund and Ygritte was the hardest thing he thought he’d ever do. And more of him hurt than just where the woman had pierced him through with her arrows. Fighting the others wasn’t quite so bad. They had, over time, begun to accept his presence, with the exception of Orell, but they had never liked him. And Jon, for all that a part of him felt called by the wild nature of the Free Folk’s way of life, hadn’t liked them either. He tried hard not to think about what expression would be on Tormund’s face, watching him ride away.

And if Jon cried, mourning over the childish ache in his heart more so than the arrows in his back, well… No one but the horse ever needed to know.

For the first time ever, Jon felt his Bond go cold. The chill of the metal against his skin stole whatever breath he still had and sent a sharp-edged pang of loneliness straight through to his core.

It didn’t last for long, and after less than an hour, the warmth was back. Jon doubted he would ever forget that feeling though. Like the one person who mattered above all else in this world, decided by the gods because they knew what was best, had given up on him in some way. Even if just for a little while.

Well… that was fine. Jon was close to giving up on himself, too. He wouldn’t blame his soulmate for thinking the same.

*

His return to Castle Black brought little relief. Maester Aemon treated his wounds with Sam’s help, removing what remained of Ygritte’s arrows and applying awful smelling salves that stung as much as the look of death and betrayal that had burned in Tormund’s eyes.

Jon knew he was withdrawn and acting funny. Sam and Pyp were clearly worried. They were used to him brooding and being quiet and sullen, but this new behaviour was something far worse than they knew how to deal with.

And Jon hated himself for it. Because his whole dilemma revolved, not only around Ygritte, but Tormund. He hated how it was mostly about Tormund. Why did it even matter? Tormund was the one who had ordered the others to kill him on that farm! Tormund had threatened his life more times than Jon had cared to keep track of during their months together. The hulking man had made it absolutely clear that if Jon ever caused so much as a whisper of suspicion about his intentions, then Jon would be just another one of those little skeletons buried in the woods.

Jon wanted to scream! Why did he care so damn much?!

And it wasn’t like he could tell any of this to literally anyone. He had broken exactly none of his vows, but still. If anyone, even Sam or Pyp found out about the… less than typical thoughts that filled his head about Tormund then… That would be it. He would be locked away or killed or worse.

So he suffered silently, waiting impatiently for the attack he knew was coming. Waited for the inevitable moment he would hopefully not see Tormund or Ygritte in the battle. He didn’t want to kill either of them, and in truth, he wasn’t sure he was physically capable of it. But he had a duty to the Watch and he was going to fulfill it. Even if it felt like tearing out his own heart and stamping it into the frozen mud and dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Like I said, chapter four will be out shortly, so I hope that makes up for the missing length in this chapter. (If anyone's interested, holler at my beta and get him to work faster, lol.)
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos are always appreciated. Please let me know what you thought. Thanks!


	4. Knowing Your Limit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta who was finally able to read through this chapter, I finally have it ready to post. I believe it is free of most typos and such, but if not, I apologize for that.
> 
> Also, due to a couple of long conversations my beta and I had, we decided that it was unlikely in a soulmate au such as this, Robb would be killed. So this is pretty canon divergent. This shouldn't change too much of the main story line between Jon and Tormund though, and that's what matters.
> 
> So, once again, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I also hope that it makes up for the shortness of the previous one.

Jon did what he could to keep his body and mind busy. Unfortunately, that proved to be a rather difficult task. He could keep his body moving and busy just fine, what with Thorne’s orders and shoring up Castle Black before the Wildlings could come and plow right over them. That wasn’t necessarily the issue, even if he had been scolded (if he could use such a tame term) for helping teach the new recruits how to fight against their enemies.

It was his mind that proved it needed far more distraction. Any moment in which Jon just had to do menial labor or pointless tasks that left his mind free to wander, he saw glimpses of red hair and blue eyes and intense stares. His dreams, while troubled for many reasons, also found themselves filled with broad shoulders and strong arms; large hands that were surprisingly nimble when they needed to be.

More than once, Jon woke up in a predicament that he was all but determined not to acknowledge. And even in that, he’d failed. More than just once. He was left feeling embarrassed even though no one had to know, ashamed of something only he would ever remember.

But he was still mad. He wasn’t even mad at the subject of these near constant thoughts and their accompanying less than innocent dreams.

Jon Snow was just mad at himself.

So when he was given any excuse to think of something else, he jumped on it quickly. That excuse came in the form of Bran, his crippled little brother who had somehow managed to find his way beyond the Wall and refused to follow Sam back to safety. Or, relative safety as it were.

Thorne’s agreement to send Jon beyond the Wall to Craster’s Keep and deal with the mutineers was almost a relief. Or, it would be if Jon hadn’t been smart enough to realize that the man had only agreed because he thought Jon might never come back. And that just added a little more fuel to the fire that had Jon’s blood boiling and rushing in his veins. But he would take it as the small blessing that it was either way and go with as many people as he could to deal with the problem.

He got more volunteers than he’s honestly been hoping for, and clearly many more than Thorne had expected. That thought alone gave Jon no small amount of satisfaction.

They got out there with no problem, finding 11 drunk brothers with no guards and not a care in the gods forsaken world. They were all idiots, and Jon wondered if they hadn’t planned on being around long just to begin with. If they were acting like this, clearly they were either arrogant that they could hold their own, or they weren’t worried about seeing the morning sun ever again.

Jon prayed silently just before sundown that Bran and Hodor were okay. He hoped the gods were listenly in their silence or the softly falling snow. He also found himself holding out hope that he would find his brother here, unharmed and willing to return to Castle Black with him.

Though he wasn’t sure how likely that was.

When Locke mentioned the hut that they should steer clear of, Jon became interested. He hadn’t remembered Craster keeping hounds before, and none of the Night’s Watch had any that Jon knew of. Ghost, though a direwolf and not a dog, had been the only of his kind around. So Jon wondered where these new dogs could have come from.

Locke gave off a feeling to Jon that he didn’t particularly like. So Jon decided to split the group into two. He took Edd with him, aiming for the hut and planning to join up again with the others as soon as the mystery was solved. Wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.

Edd had agreed with Jon that the keep had never had hounds before. Even a few weeks ago when he and Grenn had been there, no dogs were present and none were likely just to stroll on by.

Jon and Edd left just before the light was gone, instructing the others to come just as soon as the sun was down and they would meet up.

The hut wasn’t far. It was small and clearly had something large inside. It had not been made for whatever was inside.

And from the sounds of it, if Jon had to guess, it was probably a wolf.

Edd’s expression seemed to agree with him.

The beast was making quite a racket, but it quieted as they drew near. Jon could hear it snuffling at the chained doors as he approached, careful on near silent feet. Suddenly it whined, letting out a pitiful yip and Jon’s mind was flooded with the memory of a howling direwolf pup back in Winterfell.

Jon almost didn’t care if he was wrong. He needed to be right. Needed to know that this was him, that this was the wolf who would prove Bran was-

Jon broke the lock on the door, much to Edd’s chagrin, and threw open the shed as quietly as he cared to. Inside was a direwolf, not as big as Ghost, was clearly bigger than any normal beast. He had the same brown and greyish tan markings that the wolf in Jon’s memory had. His eyes were grey brown.

The wolf stepped forward fearlessly, sniffing at Jon’s outstretched hand and then licking at his glove. And yes - thanks the gods, yes - this was him. It was Bran’s direwolf.

“Hey there, pup,” Jon greeted him softly. “You don’t belong in here, do you?”

“Gods, Jon,” Edd grumbled. “You know this wolf?”

“I do,” Jon said, reaching out and stroking a hand along the wolf’s neck. “He’s my little brother’s. And that means he might be close.”

Bran’s unnamed direwolf followed Jon, nearly on his heels, as he and Edd went to join the others.

The fight wasn’t long, but it was brutal and bloody. Much bloodier than Jon would have prefered. But they had killed Lord Commander Mormont and deserved everything they got.

Jon killed Tanner inside one of the buildings with Longclaw through the back of his head. His thigh was soaked in blood and a sharp, burning ache radiating through his leg, but he could live with that. His back still ached from healing arrow holes, so he supposed one more wound to heal wouldn’t be too bad.

Outside, there were eleven dead mutineers. Five of their brothers had died, too. One of them, Locke, was nearly torn apart.

“What in seven hells could do that to a man?” Grenn asked at Jon’s side.

Jon looked around, the lamps and firelight providing enough to see by. But Bran’s direwolf was gone, no longer at Jon’s side or milling anywhere else.

And that reminded Jon suddenly of what he’d hoped to find here.

“Bran?” he called. “Bran?! Pup!”

He whistled, hoping the wolf would respond as he didn’t know what to call him.

Their remaining brothers and Craster’s wives stilled and went silent. Listening in the quiet night for a return call.

“Bran!”

It took a second, but then he heard it. Just the whisper of a voice, younger than his own, calling from nearby.

“Who is that?” Grenn asked.

But Jon was already off, following the direction he thought his brother’s voice might have come from.

The wolf appeared again from around the corner of a separate building. He barked at Jon once and turned tail again. Jon sprinted after him, the sounds of his brothers hot on his heels.

Bran’s wolf led him up to the doorway of the building, brushing inside past the fur that covered the opening.

“Bran?” Jon was saying before he had even looked inside.

And there he was, older and bigger now than he was when Jon had last seen him. His hair was long and curling like his mother’s, but he had more color to him than before. His eyes weren’t sunken and his skin not yellowed and pale from illness and injury. He sat against the wall, his legs splayed out in front of him uselessly.

But Jon’s breath left him at the sight.

“Jon!” Bran cried. The boy reached out for him and Jon dropped everything to limp his way over. He fell to his knees and scooped his brother into a hug, holding him tightly.

There were others in the room, Jon knew. But he couldn’t find it in him to care or pay them any mind. Not when Bran was awake and seemingly well, safe in his arms. At least for the time being.

When finally Jon pulled away and looked into Bran’s eyes, he couldn’t help but ask “what in the seven hells are you doing all the way out here?” But he was smiling at the boy and Bran smiled back at him, his hands clutching at Jon’s leathers.

“It’s a long story,” Bran admitted. “What are you doing out here?”

Jon could hear Edd balk and laugh at the question. The man knelt next to Jon.

“Doing our duty as brothers of the Night’s Watch,” he answered for Jon. “This isn’t the place for some little lordling, or a prince, as it might be.”

Bran hesitated, his eyes darting between Jon and Edd quickly. He seemed almost scared, something that Bran had never been in regards to Jon before.

“Come on, little brother,” Jon insisted lowly. “You’ll have to tell me one way or another.”

Bran’s eyes swept past Jon, looking around the room and stopping on a fixed point towards Jon’s left. He turned and looked as well, coming face to face with two kids and Hodor. They were both younger than Jon, much closer in age to Bran or perhaps Sansa. The girl and boy looked nothing alike, but the way they stood together, even shackled and restrained, spoke of a familial bond between them.

“I’ll tell you,” Bran promised, turning his eyes back to Jon. His tone was low, his words quiet enough that only Jon and Edd would have heard. “But not now. Alone. Please?”

The boy’s eyes pleaded up at him, wide and round and so big. Jon couldn’t say no to him. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be letting him go any time soon.

He nodded once.

“We’ll take them back to camp with us,” he told Edd.

Then he stood back up with some difficulty and turned to his brothers.

“We’ve got a mess to clean up, brothers. Gather up all the good steel you can and we’ll bring it back to Castle Black with us.”

The men all nodded grimly, turning and leaving the hut with a few odd glances at Bran and his companions. They were probably wishing for an explanation, but then, so was Jon. He would introduce Bran to them all later, once they’d settled back into their camp for the night. And after Jon had had the full story of how his second youngest brother had come to be dressed like a Wilding, 60 miles beyond the Wall and over 600 miles from home.

He looked back at the three others still in the room, looking them over once again. The girl had curly brown hair and dark eyes. The boy had fairer hair that was messy and wild all over, a sharp, hard look to his features. Something about them both was familiar, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He stepped closer to them.

“Can I get you out of those?” he asked gently, careful of the wary looks in their eyes. Cautiously, they held out their hands and Jon and Edd set about working the iron shackles off their wrists. The girl seemed especially antsy at Jon’s touch, so he worked as quickly and lightly as he could, backing off as soon as she was free.

“Who are you two?” he asked them as Edd finished with the boy.

“I’m Jojen, and this is Meera,” the boy answered, his eyes glancing over Bran from over top Jon’s shoulder.

But suddenly the names and the boy’s face seemed to click in Jon’s head.

“Not Howland Reed’s kids?” he asked, almost horrified.

They nodded.

“Seven hells…”

“Jon,” he heard Bran from behind him.

“Just sit tight here for a bit, alright?” he asked of them all. “I’ll come and get you once we’re done here.

With one final look to Bran, he limped from the hut, Edd following at his side.

The work wasn’t slow, but it certainly wasn’t pretty. Jon had just been handed another sword when he heard Grenn call his name.

He placed the sword down on the grown in the pile with all the others. When he turned around, he was greeted with the sight of yet another direwolf emerging from the dark of the forest. He was even bigger than last Jon had seen him, but his fur was still just as white as snow. Save for the places around his mouth and paws. They were red with blood.

But Jon was so, so happy to see him.

“Where in seven hells?” he called to the wolf. “Come here!”

Ghost trotted over, panting and smiling his wolf smile. He whined, looking Jon over for a moment and allowing Jon to scrub a hand along his neck.

“I miss you, boy,” he admitted in a murmur, smiling despite himself.

They may have lost a few brothers that night, but Jon had had one of his brothers and his direwolf returned to him. Things could be worse, he decided.

Edd pulled his attention away from Ghost and out of his thoughts, asking what should be done with Craster’s wives and daughters. They couldn’t stay there, it wasn’t safe with Mance’s army coming. He said as much to them, offering for the lot of them to accompany him and the brothers back to Castle Black.

“Meaning all respect, sir crow. Craster beat us, and worse. Your brother crows beat us and worse. We’ll find our own way.”

Jon wasn’t sure what to make of that. He asked, incredulously, if they wanted to stay there in Craster’s keep. His response came in the woman spitting on the ground and telling him to burn it.

And all their dead with it.

After all he’d seen and what he knew, he was inclined to listen to her.

So they did. He brought the Reed children, Hodor, and Bran from the hut with his brother’s direwolf and they piled the dead inside. It didn’t take long for the structure to go up in flames. They stood and watched it burn. Jon was sure not just a few of the girls and his brothers were glad to see it gone.

*

“So who are our guests, Jon?” one of his brothers, Martin, asked. “You clearly know at least the little one.”

Jon looked around all the men gathered around their fire. It reminded him suddenly of the campfires he’d sat at with the Free Folk. With Tormund. He had to shake himself out of the thought.

This wasn’t like that.

“Aye,” he said, looking to Bran on his right. “This is Brandon Stark of Winterfell. My half brother. His companions are Jojen and Meera Reed of Greywater Watch and Hodor, a stablehand from Winterfell.

Several of his brothers looked rightfully shocked at this information. They were clearly Northmen, familiar with the Northern houses and their lords.

“What are two little lordlings and a lady doing this far north?”

“Our business is our own,” Meera spoke up. Jon hadn’t heard her speak before.

A couple men reeled back slightly, someone whistling as if impressed.

“Alright,” he cut through them, raising his voice. “That’s enough of that. Leave them be.”

Most settled down without a fuss rather quickly.

They finished their admittedly sparse meal they’d been able to prepare and Jon sent most of them off to sleep.

“We’re all tired and there’s 60 miles between us and Castle Black. We’ll want to be back as soon as we can. Get some rest.”

They all nodded and headed off. Jon would take first watch, sitting up with Bran and the Reeds to see what their story was.

Once he was sure the others were down for a while in their bedrolls, he turned to the boys and girl at his side.

“Alright, Bran,” he started, a hint of a teasing smile in his voice, “tell me what all of this is about.”

And so he did. Bran told him of the dreams he would have, of a three eyed raven that would appear and leave him down into the crypts. He told him about his dreams, seeing through the eyes of Summer, his direwolf, and of Robb going off to war with Theon. He told him about Theon returning and taking Winterfell from them and how they ended up in the woods with a wildling woman named Osha. And how Jojen and Meera had found them.

When Bran mentioned wargs, his heart nearly stopped. He knew they were real, of course, had seen when wargs could do with his own two eyes. Though the last warg he’d known had hated him and known he would betray them from the start.

Bran’s eyes, however, were begging for Jon to believe him.

“Hush, little brother,” he soothed. “I believe you. No need to work yourself up over it.”

Bran smiled in some form of relief, grasping at Jon’s offered hand.

“So what happened to Rickon and Osha?” he asked.

“I sent them away,” Bran admitted, “before we could cross the Wall. I knew it wouldn’t be safe up here for him.”

“It’s not safe up here for you,” Jon pointed out.

“Jon-”

“I understand what you’re trying to do, Bran, but…” He hesitated. “I can’t just let you go.”

All three started to protest.

“I have to do this!”

“We need to keep going-”

“We’ve already come so far!”

“Peace, peace,” Jon placated. The three fell quiet once again.

Jon sighed heavily to himself. He couldn’t just let them go. He couldn’t let them continue on like this. Not with everything he knew was out there and no guarantee they would be okay.

“Bran-”

“Jon, please!”

“I can’t just let you go!” he argued right back with the boy. “You’re still young, and you have no idea the kind of dangers that live up here.”

“We can protect ourselves-” Jojen cut in.

“And I believe that,” Jon agreed. “But not well enough. There are wolves and shadowcats and things a lot worse than them up here. Mance Rayder is leading an army of the Free Folk to the Wall as we speak and they will cut down anyone who stands in their way. And that includes the four of you. Do you understand?”

Bran was quiet for a moment, Meera and Jojen looking to him and waiting for an answer.

“But I have to do this, Jon. I have to know what’s waiting-”

“And I have to know that you are safe!”

Bran looked at him with a young, broken expression.

“Bran… Robb is thousands of miles away. Sansa and Arya are completely in the wind. Rickon may be dead, for all we know. And you tell me Winterfell has been taken over by the Ironborn who want both you and Rickon dead. You are, as far as I know, the last remaining sibling I have that I can protect, and I _have_ to know that you are safe.”

The boy looked away, reluctant to show Jon the tears in his eyes. Jon couldn’t help but stare at him. He was so much bigger than the broken little boy he’d left in Winterfell years ago. He hadn’t filled out much, but if he could stand, he would be so much taller. His hair was long, and it brushed along the furs on his back. It was dark and wavy like their father’s hair could be from time to time. He wasn’t gaunt looking anymore, and despite how he had seen hard times since being forced out of their home, he had some meat on his bones.

And Jon just couldn’t give that much. He couldn’t let him go.

“What can I do to convince you?” Bran whispered, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Jon felt as though his heart could break. If it hadn’t already been shattered from everything else, that was. Even still, the fractured pieces seemed to crush and grind together into smaller and smaller grains, like fine sand. After everything he’d been through and with everything going on and everything he feared would come…

This seemed insurmountable.

He was fighting off a stinging behind his eyes when he noticed it. Bran’s left hand was still captured tightly in Jon’s, but his right was elsewhere. In Jojen Reed’s. He watched curiously as the blond boy’s slipped into his brother’s, fingers tightening in a reassuring grip.

A new realization hit Jon like a rampaging wildling. Bran and Jojen acted different towards one another. There was nothing explicitly off, but when Jon stopped to notice and think about it, the change was there. Jojen kept very close to Bran, they spoke in low tones to one another in a way that they did not with Meera or Jon or anyone else. And Jon could recognize the look in his brother’s eyes when he looked at Howland Reed’s son.

He loved him.

Bran had grown up, Jon realized. Perhaps he’d even gotten a Bond from a weirwood tree, and perhaps it matched Jojen’s. Bran was still Jon’s little brother, but he’d been forced to become a man in his own right much too early. He was basically almost still a child, and yet he looked old beyond his years.

Not many had been around to protect Bran from this.

And as much as Jon wanted to be the one to protect him, he wasn’t sure that he could. Taking Bran back to Castle Black could put him in danger, what with Mance Rayder marching on the Wall. Winterfell was still held by the Greyjoys supposedly. Jon couldn’t send him home. Robb was thousands of miles away and all but unreachable. There was no feasible way to get Bran, a crippled boy, down into the South to their brother without risking everything.

So instead of answering Bran’s question, Jon asked one of his own.

“Have you got one?”

It was vague, but it got the boy’s attention. He looked up at Jon in confusion, his tearful eyes looking up at him.

Jon smiled sadly, unwilling to fight the tears in his own eyes. He reached up to his collar and dug beneath it, hooking a finger over the gold chain that sat hidden there and pulled it out.

Bran’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Jon’s Bond. He hadn’t seen it often when he was younger, as Jon usually kept it hidden and private beneath his clothes. His half brother had only taken it out upon special circumstances, usually when Bran had been overly clingy and interested in Bonds. Though that hadn’t been often.

Jon watched as Bran swallowed. He let go of Jojen and raised a hand to the collar of his own top. His hand reached inside, grabbed something, and pulled it out.

He was shaking.

“It’s alright, Bran,” Jon encouraged him softly.

The boy was only a little unsteady when he nodded, taking a breath to calm himself. Then his hand was opening, presenting the pendant of a necklace resting gently in the center of his palm.

It was a circular pendant, perfectly round, and hanging on a thin, but sturdy leather band. Inside the circle was a tree, its branches fanning out and melding into the edges of the pendant. It was all gray iron, but Jon thought it felt like Bran. He inspected it closer for a moment, upon Bran’s consent, and found a little bird situated high up in the branches.

Jon replaced the pendant back in Bran’s hand reverently. He smiled at his brother, even if it was the last thing he felt like doing.

It felt like saying goodbye.

Bran was looking at Jon, frightened.

“I’m happy for you, little brother,” Jon breathed on a whisper. He thought for sure he might be crying.

Twin tears slipped down Bran’s cheeks.

Jojen scooted himself closer up to Bran, pressing their bodies together in comfort silently.

There were wet patches in his beard. Perhaps Jon was not the only person who could keep his brother safe.

“Just-” he started, his voice catching on a hiccup. “Just keep each other safe. You hear me?”

Both boys nodded. Behind them, Meera nodded as well, and Jon knew that between the four of them (Hodor and Summer included), Bran had the best possible protection in the worst possible scenario. But Jon supposed he would have to live with that.

He didn’t have much else for a choice.

*

The next morning, Jon said goodbye to his brother, making him promise to come back to them safely. Otherwise, Robb would have Jon’s head when this was all over. He’d hugged Bran tight, as close and for as long as possible, pretending he wasn’t crying. Then he’d said goodbye to the Reed children, both of them promising to take care of themselves and Bran as best they could. Hodor smiled sadly at Jon and said goodbye to him with a solemn “Hodor.”

Then the five were off, heading further north. And Jon was turning the opposite direction and heading towards Castle Black, Edd and Grenn at his side. They didn’t say anything of the tears they could clearly see, or how Jon’s voice was rougher than usual.

The entire return journey had him thinking about telling Sam. Telling him of finding his brother and the children of his father’s most loyal bannermen. Telling him about how big Bran was now. Of what they were doing. Of his Bond. How it was shared with Jojen Reed.

Though he was excited to see Sam, he wasn’t excited to return.

Return meant getting closer to Mance’s attack. Closer to fighting for their lives. Closer to seeing Tormund again.

Closer to dealing with Thorne.

Jon decided he would be conveniently forgetting to mention to the acting Lord Commander that he’d seen his brother. That it just slipped his mind.

If this was the only way to protect Bran, than Jon would do it a million times if he could.

Fuck Thorne anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought.


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